Solitary Dancer by John Lawrence Reynolds Page B

didn’t mention names?”
    â€œOnly that he was well-known.”
    â€œFor what?”
    Weiner looked confused. “I don’t understand . . .”
    â€œWas he an athlete? Ball player maybe? Somebody on television? A politician?”
    â€œShe never said. Just that he was well-known, well-connected.” Weiner turned away. “She often bragged about her men friends that way but this time I could tell she was nervous and I asked what was wrong. She said she couldn’t tell me but she asked if I might be working last evening or if Jonathan, that’s the young man who comes in for restorations, if he might be here. I said no and asked why and she laughed in that nervous way she had and said she had been threatened, her life had been threatened. And I said, ‘For goodness sakes, go to the police, Heather.’”
    â€œAnd that’s it?”
    Weiner nodded.
    â€œWhat did she say about your warning?”
    â€œThat she couldn’t. She said the police couldn’t help her.”
    â€œShe have many men visitors?”
    Weiner seemed amused by the question. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Heather never seemed to lack for male company. Heather was . . .” Weiner shifted his weight in his chair. “. . . unconventional. And a free spirit, I should think.”
    Fox looked around the room at the paisley patterned wallpaper, the fancy cornices, the baroque brass ceiling fixture. “What’s upstairs?” he asked.
    â€œA small showroom, storage area. A restoration section. I have a refinisher who comes in when needed to perform simple repairs.”
    â€œThere’s no access to Heather’s apartment from your quarters?”
    Weiner shook his head.
    â€œWhat was she like?”
    â€œHeather?” Weiner smiled; his cheeks grew round and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Like no one I have ever known. I don’t expect to meet anyone quite like her again.”
    â€œDid you like her?”
    â€œLike her?” Weiner was surprised by the question. “Oh, I don’t believe I liked her. She was, uh, a difficult person to like. Attractive in a, um, I suppose, carnal fashion, but . . .” He shook his head as though the gesture was enough to finish the sentence.
    â€œDid you ever criticize her about her lifestyle?”
    â€œHer what?”
    â€œAll the men she brought up to her apartment. You said she brought lots of them home.”
    â€œWell, I never
saw
them you understand, not
all
of them . . .”
    â€œShe ever talk about your lifestyle?”
    Weiner took a deep breath and smiled coldly. “How could my lifestyle have any bearing on your investigation, Lieutenant?”
    â€œJust trying to get a handle on the victim, that’s all.”
    â€œWell, as a matter of fact, Heather could be
very
caustic at times. A great many people found that difficult to take.”
    â€œIncluding you?”
    â€œSometimes.” Weiner picked a gold-plated letter opener from his desk, holding it by the handle as though it were a knife.
    â€œShe call you names?”
    Another cold smile. “Lieutenant, I’ve heard all the names. She didn’t invent any new ones.”
    Fox placed his card on the desk. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
    He left Weiner toying with the letter opener and staring at Fox’s card as though wondering if it were safe to touch.

Chapter Four
    â€œNot enough,” Don Higgins said, jutting out his bottom lip like a small boy pouting. “Not nearly enough. I thought you’d have more for me.”
    Fat Eddie Vance rolled a yellow pencil between his fingers and blinked at the prosecuting attorney across the pristine top of his desk. Tim Fox sat next to Higgins, his arms folded. He had not spoken a word since entering the captain’s office ten minutes earlier. Phil Donovan leaned against the wall next to the window, staring out at a weak early morning sun obscured